Vegas held a lot of memories for me in the late 60's and early 70's, during the peak of my use with Hope, Nixon, Reagan, Kissinger and others. To insure their secrecy, I was taken to Vegas for «reconditioning» every so often. These times included trauma to keep the experiences sequestered from my conscious mind. After my children were born, they tied the memory of the trauma to threats used to remind me of the safety or lack of it for my children in order to keep their secrets really safe. These mob guys (Sicilian mostly) had lots of money and power in their own respective territory. That was as far as their power went, so they created a network amongst each other to insure their power in many places. They formed links to government 'political' figures in an effort to insure that they didn't lose their precious 'holdings' in areas that counted. Drugs, porn, baby sales, prostitution-they made their money wherever they could in order to keep their holdings.
After I sexually serviced Bob Hope in Vegas, I would often be visited by one of his mob buddies who would "give me the treatment." That meant drug me, isolate me, and rape me whatever trauma it took to keep my programming intact for use with Bob, the «Prez» and others. They were brutal, and knew just how to terrorize me but not physically damage me too much just inflict a lot of pain. The Mob was very connected to Bob and various government operations, and had their own pecking order that needed to be followed to insure that a person stayed alive. The Council was above the Mob, above the government, and literally coordinated how things went down with the Mob; and ultimately was instrumental in taking away much of their power and then redistributing it as needed.
During the trauma the mobsters sometimes called me "deafling," and told me the walls in Vegas had eyes and ears and could watch and hear me at all times, and that there were powerful men there who could see me all the time.
Bob gave me to "Uncle Frankie" one night after Frank Sinatra did a show in Vegas. Frank liked to use whips and chains and those very scary leather straps with me. He liked to orgasm while I was lying there on my back with him on top, while he continually tightened the leather strap around my neck until I was nearly dead — at that point he could orgasm. I had sex with him often and did the things he told me to do. One time he told me to go over to the man wearing the diamond stickpin and give him a message, "I love you…" I wasn't able to retrieve all of this memory because it turned into carousel rides, whirling, spinning, like a top, so I couldn't think to remember. This programming is called spin programming and is intended to disorient and confuse. The whirling feeling I felt in my brain was often combined with hearing a popular song playing in my head, as the lyrics reminded me, "I'm so dizzy my head is spinning."
The whole Las Vegas scene was always an extremely painful nightmare for me. I was subjected to lots of violence there from Frank Sinatra, "to keep all the little secrets quiet," he said. He was brutal to me. He tied me up, down, tied my wrists together, slapped me over and over, used bright lights, raped me and strapped me with a leather belt. Vegas was never fun. Porn was also filmed there and I was prostituted to high government officials and friends of Bob. Uncle Frank took care of the «security» so I didn't ever step out of line. The consequences were disastrous every time I stepped out of line. There was a number system that measured things I did wrong — if I disobeyed in any way, I was marked down a certain number of points. Only I didn't ever know what the number system was or how it worked. So I never knew if I'd reached the point where I had to be "taken care of." It was very scary and I was always confused and couldn't think because I didn't know, couldn't remember, what it was that was bad to do. So I was afraid everything I was doing could cause some point to be added or taken away. They kept score for years and the stakes went up after I had the kids. Then they threatened to hurt them or when the kids were older they put me in front of all three of my children, and got very close to killing me, in order to traumatize all of us, so we wouldn't remember. In later years my little daughter, Kelly was often prostituted to many famous and sexually perverted men, including pedophiles like George Bush, Mickey Rooney and others.
Uncle Frank was younger than Bob, and Bob said Frank could run faster to catch me if the need ever arose. Uncle Frank was the single worst heavy with me — except for Ted Kennedy, Francois Mitterand, and my own father. Frank was very scary and I reported to him directly in Vegas. I met with him upstairs and listened and followed his every direction. I went into a hypnotic trance and listened carefully, and then he would snap his fingers to switch me into another personality, and later on I would do everything as he commanded.
"Uncle Frank" told me who to sit by at the baccarat, black jack or crap tables. He told me what to say to certain men, where and how to have sex with them and gave me a key to the rooms to take them to. These men had two hours of sheer luxury and sex, and sometimes it ended with me soaping them down and redressing them. Sex, whipped cream, chocolate sauce, whatever they wanted for added pleasure. Whips and chains and leather straps, that Uncle Frank often used to nearly strangle me, were provided to these men.
Frank was very private about his private life — to the point of violence if anyone ever asked him anything. Bob had to remind Frank that I was of small stature and told him he didn't want him to "break anything" on me. Frank could get very carried away. Once, he grabbed my hair and kept pushing my head into a full tub of water until I couldn't breathe and was gagging, choking and grasping for air. Uncle Frank was the one who made me really sick in Vegas. He nearly killed me and knew all kinds of ways to torture a person. I saw him break a guy's arm on the corner of a desk, very easily, like it was a pretzel. The guy fainted. He loved to do stuff like that to people. But I did the men Uncle Frank told me to, and did the best job I possibly could, or there would be retaliation. If I didn't perform to their standards I got hurt very badly. Uncle Frank would throw me up against walls and when my body hit, I felt like I was broken. "Body slams," he called them, and I got a lot of those. He nearly killed me after I was with some darkskinned, foreign leader dressed in a white robe with a white turban on. This man was brutal also. Frank shaved my pubic hair for this man. That was also scary. Frank told Bob he wanted to do it himself, so he took me into the bathroom in the hotel and took one of those big electric shavers and made me lie down on the floor and spread my legs so he could shave me. He pinched and nicked me with that razor, and just laughed when I jumped from the pain. Tears were running uncontrollably down my face, I wasn't allowed to cry but somehow, sometimes I just couldn't help it. One of the personalities that dealt with Uncle Frank was tied directly into a system of reporting personalities, led by 'Sandy, my main reporting personality. These personalities reported everything that happened, out of trauma-conditioning, training and terror, with no ability to lie or protect themselves.
Often I was given instruction by a group of men in a darkened, smoke-filled room in Vegas. The man in charge of the security area I entered, knew me, and always waved me through. These men seemed to operate above the law, above the rules, and had connections inside lots of casinos. The messages I delivered were gambling tips, information about drug and guns deals, and other illegal and hidden agendas. "Number 9 on the line," was a code I was given and was sent in on many different men with a pre-programmed agenda. I was told a man's physical description and where he would be at a precise time. I met him and delivered the messages I was told to relay. If the man wanted more, I was instructed to "follow through," if they wanted sex. At times, though, I was told to "give them the slip," if my controllers didn't want me to have sex with them.